This Make Believe
by scooter13
Summary: It was inevitable, just not the way she imagined it.


She is so tired, so worn and weary and she knows this should stop, knows she should push him away, but she can't bring herself to. Later, she knows, she'll feel horrible for her recklessness, but the way he rakes his talons down her back, the feel of his skin, hard and scratchy against her own, makes those future regrets seem so far away that they become unimportant.

Her hands had been resting on his cowl, but now she slides them up, over his neck, nails slightly scratching the softer skin there, hard enough for her to feel it, not hard enough to do anything but leave the shadow of touch through his thicker hide. He groans anyway, his face hidden in her hair, the strands displaced and moving with his heavy breaths. She doesn't know how long they've been naked, just holding each other, but he is shaking and each breath is expelled from him on a gasping, needy bastardized hybrid of a groan and growl.

"Jane…Spirits," he breathes when she reaches down with both hands, one coming to rest on his narrow waist, the other reaching between them and stroking his penis, tracing the alien ridges and bumps, the hot girth pulsing in her hand and she needs him _now_.

"Garrus," she sighs, then bites him, hard, needing him to know exactly what she wants but doesn't know if she can say it without that awkward hitch, without needing to pull away to look at him. And she knows that if she does, she will see what she always sees: her best friend, the one thing in the world that has always been beside her and no matter his personal changes, his unwavering loyalty has never changed or been in doubt and she'll see the person she stupidly fell in love with. And she knows that he knows it's just a stress-fuck, and she doesn't know how to say that it's not, because that is all he wants and she can't take that away from him.

What they have, are having and will never keep, is against everything both races stand for, against everything both of them have been taught. Turians don't even mate with asari, at least not those in good-standing who want to keep it that way, and for all his _laissez-faire _and claims of not being a good turian in that amazing drawn out drawl of his Shepard knows that, even if it's just in his head, the fear of his father's actual, tangible rejection has kept him from so many things. But this, this right here is nothing more than two soldiers blowing off steam, as he'd say, and this he can accept because she's his best friend and anything with anyone else would be too weird and it's Cerberus, so there'd be no one else, anyway.

And she'd never turn him away because it's that moment after Saren, they're standing on the Citadel docks and he's telling her he's going to apply for SPECTRE status, and he's not staring at her for approval like he always is because she's his commanding officer; he's staring into the distance, as if looking at that future, then turns and gives her the turian equivalent of a grin and suggests that they could be horseboys together, riding around outside the law and shooting bad guys. She'd laughed at his slip, correcting him but realizing that through it all, he'd been her rock, the one person she could turn to and understands that she'd turned Kaiden away because he was perfect and handsome and wanted a life she could never see with him. But the thought of being with _Garrus_, even as a friend and fellow soldier, made her impossibly happy and it all clicked and she embarrassed herself when she'd just stared at him, trying to think, and he'd laughed, misinterpreting her. "Yeah," he'd said, turning away again, "Turians are supposed to uphold the law to the letter. But I'm a_ reeeeeally_ bad Turian." Then he'd grinned again, she'd cleared her throat and said something she hoped was witty and he'd wandered off with a slight wave, and she'd gone back to the Normandy looking forward to seeing him in a few months. For her, she had, for him it'd been two and a half long years.

He nips at her neck when she squeezes the base of his cock, growling, his fringe engorged and standing on end. One of his hands reaches down and he's grazing a taloned finger over her sex, the thrill of the danger in that one movement enough to have her wetter than ever. His face is still in her neck, and she can feel and hear him sniffing the air, his entire body vibrating as he growls again, this time full of need and lust and she knows he needs it and knows it will not be like she had imagined it; soft and sweet and she knows that's stupid because he's a turian but he's also her best friend and she's thought there'd be more romance. She reaches up and scrapes one of the spikes on his fringe with her fingernail, and everything finally explodes.

They're already naked, so there's no awkward hindrance when he turns her around and pushes her onto the bed, she automatically catching herself and bracing on her hands and knees. He's behind her, breathing hard and she thinks he's finally noticed the differences and can't bring himself to do this and it hurts so _much_ that he doesn't find her attractive, but she holds still, waiting. She then feels the bed dip and turns her head, seeing him kneel with one leg on either side of hers, the tip of his erection poking at her entrance. "Jane," he growls out, his taloned hands skimming up her bare back, finding her shoulders and grasping, "Jane, tell me we can do this." She swallows and nods, her voice hitching when she says, "Yes, Garrus, we can do this." And that's all the warning she has; he's buried halfway inside her and growling and she winces but it feels so fucking good that her back arches ad she lets out an inarticulate cry. Feeling him pull out, she whines and tries to follow, but he holds her steady, then plunges back in, and she's so wet and he's so blazingly hot that she doesn't know how long it'll last.

"Spirits, you're so wet," he groans, pumping back into her, "So fucking wet, and so tight." She feels him start to expand, knows this is normal from the vids she'd watched and articles she'd read, but nothing could prepare her for him stretching her with each stroke. "Fuck, Garrus!" she cries out as each bump and ridge passes over every pleasure button she has and she wants to reach down because she's so close and all she needs is that one last _push_, but he's heavy and she doesn't want to interrupt the pace by shifting even minutely. He takes away the dilemma, however, when he pushes her upper body down, mouth and teeth finding the side of her neck and biting as he begins to pump faster, the feeling of his saliva and her blood wetting her skin almost too much. She reaches down between her legs and begins to roll and rub her clit, her fingers occasionally grazing over his hot cock as it pushes into her and he's still expanding and she's not quite sure how much more she can take.

If she had any mental faculties left, Jane probably would have been saddened by what was happening, by the reality of her wants massacring the dreams she had held of them. Garrus was snarling now, his body tense and flexing as he pushed harder and deeper into her, his mandibles fluttering against her jaw line, his talons, now on her hips, cutting into the skin there as he held her at both ends, pumping in a frantic need to relieve himself of everything that had happened. And he kept pushing against those spots so perfectly that it wasn't long before Jane had her head tilted back as much as the position and circumstances would allow and she was screaming, her hands fisting into the bed covers as she came, her cunt pulsing around his cock, drawing out his own orgasm. And then Garrus is coming, his roar ripped from him as he pushes into her once, twice then stays there, pulsing and grunting as his seed fills her, coating her with warmth that stays inside her, no matter how much she wishes those tendrils of comfort would spread to the rest of her body.

He's collapsing now, spent and tired, and turns to her, mouth open as if to speak, but he shuts it quickly when he sees her. "_Spirits_, Shepard," he breathes, and Jane winces inwardly, wishing he wasn't able to close himself off so well, wishing she could've been Jane just a little longer. But she's wounded, he's done it and he knows it and there's nothing she can say so she stays quiet when he jumps up to collect the medi-gel, just lets herself lay down as the sink runs and turns off and he's back with a damp cloth and the blue gel. His touch is gentle and she wants to face him, to see what he looks like, to read his expression, but then he could read hers, too, and that would be bad. So she stays turned away, her forearms crossed underneath her cheek and her eyes closed as she allows herself to be soothed by the warm cloth, cool gel, and suddenly hesitant touch. And in this position, with the world shut away, she can pretend, and it's nice. Soon, though, he's gone, his talons tapping on the metal floor, and she can hear clothes rustling and wants him to stay, but he doesn't need that and she can't ask for that because she knew what this was.

He walks back and she finally rolls over, hoping the exhaustion will cover the resignation in her eyes. Garrus leans down, his blue eyes offset so perfectly by his darker skin and lighter tattoos, and gently touches his forehead to her own, and she's hoping she's not crying because she knows what that means, but doesn't know if he knows how significant it is for her.

"Thank you, Jane," he whispers, his mandibles fluttering over her nose as he holds there for awhile, breathing in, then leaning back. He's smiling, or the equivalent of, and she smirks back, hiding behind the old humor. "Clear enough to do calibrations now?" she quips, her smile sly and if it's heart broken, he doesn't notice or let on. He chuckles, deep and dark, and it makes her toes curl. "Nah," he sends back, "my crazy ass boss just exhausted me. Think I'll turn in." And then he's leaving, and she wants him to stay, but neither of them can deal with that just now. So she lays down, but looks up when he speaks from her door. "We'll have to find cows." She stares at him, perplexed and not understanding and more than a little concerned, and she's hoping this isn't some weird Turian sex thing she should have studied up on. "To be cow boys," he clarifies with a grin, and she grins back, head falling back to the bed as she yawns. As the door closes, she curls up and wishes it was different, but oddly glad that it's still the same.

Thank you for reading! This story was inspired by Anna Nalick's "In My Head" Hope you enjoyed!


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